


Piggyback Rides for Punk Rocker Boys

by falloutpunk



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Highschool AU, M/M, frabob, this is cute ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutpunk/pseuds/falloutpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>frank's a little punk<br/>bob's on the football team<br/>cliches ensue</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(i apologize in advance for any spelling errors, my keyboard is shitty ok)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piggyback Rides for Punk Rocker Boys

**Author's Note:**

> for tumblr user gaybryar :))))

 The first time Frank meets Bob Bryar is on the first day of his freshman year. He's just fourteen years old, hunched over- one part because he's being a pouty little shit, two parts because he doesn't really want anyone to see him. If he can stay out of people's minds for four years, he'll be okay. He doesn't have any big brothers or sisters to give him the same shitty advice that's been passed down for years, and he loves them, sure, but his parents aren't exactly the best to go to for advice. Hell, they still believe that their son is going to marry a woman and give them grandchildren when he grows up. Oh, boy. He should probably tell them he's gay at _some_ point during high school. Not now, of course. Maybe right before he goes off to college so they don't have a long enough time to be weird about it with him. 

And that's about the time he runs into something big and solid. He gets knocked sort of off balance, dragging his eyes from the floor to what he'd run into. Rather, whom he'd run into. A tall, broad guy with blonde hair and light blue eyes. He's wearing a hoodie and jeans, which is pretty synonymous with what Frank's wearing, but relatively bigger and a whole lot more intimidating. The guy's being followed by about three other kinda similar-looking guys. The guy gives Frank this weird look, something Frank can't quite place. He's not sure if he wants to even attempt to place it. 

Then he proceeds to mutter,"Watch where you're going, punk," and, with one quick movement of his hand, easily shoves Frank against the nearby wall, walking away as the dudes following behind him exchange inaudible murmurs and stupid-sounding laughs. Frank frowns, lowering his eyebrows at nobody in particular and pushing himself off the wall. He looks around the hall to see if anyone's going to try give atleast half a shit about it. No knight in shining armor lies in sight. Well, that's just bullshit. He's seen way too many movies, damn it. Someone's supposed to run into him and then help him pick up his books and use a half-decent pick-up line to acheive Frank's cell phone number. Why can't life be like that? Why can't there be an invisible John Hughes in the sky instead, re-arranging people's lives to work out like eighties movies? 

Frank trudges to class like the miserable piece of shit he is.

                                                                                                                                          ...

He sees _the dude_ again at lunch, while he's sitting next to a guy named Gerard. Gerard's pretty cute, and exceedingly homosexual, although currently occupied by Bert McCracken, who's in Frank's gym period and looks kind of like a hobo. They're sophomores, so Frank should probably recognize them, but he's not too good at retaining knowledge, and he doesn't. Gerard's half-talking to Frank about something Frank couldn't care less about, and half-gushing to Bert about how _great_ their summer was together.  

Frank's attention returns to _the guy_ after Gerard completely turns to face Bert and they start talking about something else. _The guy_ is still in the same group with his other intimidating friends, but there are more of them and one of them has got a football in his hand. Well, he can't say he didn't see that one coming. There's this tapping on his shoulder and Frank gives a slight jump, turning to see the source. It's just Gerard, sliding a glance where Frank had been staring, and saying,"Jocks. Stay away from them. Unless you like getting beat up." Gerard rubs slightly, knowingly at his jaw, frowning a bit.

"Why'd they beat you up?"Frank asks, turning back to look at the so-called jocks. They're collectively getting up and escorting back to the halls, leaving one guy behind. Namely, _the guy._ He's slouched over, sighing in what appears to be exasperation. Frank can't really tell. 

"Why do you think?"Gerard spits out, all bitter and most likely rhetorical. Yeah, well.

"Who's the blonde one?"Frank asks, because that's all he's wondering. Of course, he cares about Gerard getting beaten up, but it's statistically inevitable, and he's sure Gerard's gotten more than enough comfort on that matter from Bert. (Frank's totally talking about sex.)

Gerard leans over a bit to see who Frank's talking about,"That's...Bob Bryar."

"And what about him? Did he beat you up, too?"Frank asks, still studying Bob.

"No. He's what one might call a lesser evil. He'd actually be a pretty cool dude if he wasn't the quarterback of the football team. Why do you ask? Got yourself a little crush on the quarterback?"Gerard asks, all teasing and surreptitious. 

Frank frowns,"Yeah, no. He shoved me in the hall earlier today. I just want to know my enemy."

"Right on,"Gerard says, like he's some sort of supporting character in an eighties film. Oh, wait- maybe that means there is an invisible John Hughes in the sky. Hm.

"Amen,"Frank mumbles. Gerard looks at him kind of funny, nose scrunched up, before going back to talking about whatever.

Apparently, Bob Bryar sees Frank in his peripheral vision, because he slide and unreadable glance his way, stands up, and promptly leaves.

 

     Frank's on his way home, about two miles away from his house. He doesn't own a car, and his mom and dad are both at work, so he's just walking. It's, like, a million degrees out, so he pulls his hoodie off as he turns some curb, so he's just got on his Black Flag t-shirt and is holding his hoodie with both arms. It feels like what Frank imagines it would feel like to hold a star. (Fucking massive and hot). He's not exactly sure where he's going, but he's pretty sure he'll get to his house by nightfall. 

He walks a bit further before he notices a beater car driving slowly by him. A...Cadillac, maybe? He wouldn't really know. He's not a car person, as evidenced by the Black Flag t-shirt and his black converse. But he knows this car is tailing him and that makes him really fucking scared. Frank slowly turns his head and squints, to make sure it's not some creepy guy that's going to kidnap him. Its not, though. It something worse. It's Bob Bryar- no, seriously. The window's rolled down and he's alternating between glancing over at Frank and looking at the road. Well. Fuck you, invisible-John-Hughes-in-the-sky.

 "Do you need a ride?"Bob calls, all nonchalant and curious. 

"Are you here to beat me up,"Frank calls back. It's not really a question.

"No."

"The Hell you aren't,"Frank furrows his brow."I don't need a ride."

Bob shrugs and drives forth, just fast enough to pass up Frank (in hindsight, he probably did it on purpose) Giving in because of the heat and his weary legs, Frank yells,"Okay!"

And the car stops and Bob hangs out the window and watches as Frank does a sort of half-jog to the car and stands by the passenger side door. Bob leans over and opens it for him. Frank climbs in and slams the car door shut, all pouty and reluctant but also happy because now he doesn't have to walk anymore _._

"Where d'ya live?"Bob asks, starting the car up again. 

"I'm not telling you,"Frank states indignantly."You might, like, murder me. Or TP my house. Or something."

"If I was going to murder you, you wouldn't know that I was going to murder you,"Bob retaliates, and Frank stares at him for an extended period of time before he holds his hands up and says,"Kidding! I'm kidding. I'm not gonna murder you. I just gotta know where you live so I can drop you off there."

So Frank gives in and gives Bob his address and Bob is all 'I know where that is bc i fuckin kno everythin nd shit'. Well, not those exact words, but Frank sure knows how to read between the lines.

"Why'd you, like, fuckin follow me?"Frank asks bitterly.

"I take this route home, dumbass."

"Why'd you invite me into your shitty car like some old pervert?"Frank raises one eyebrow.

"My car isn't shitty,"Bob sighs."You're so small I thought you'd die of heat exhaustion. How old are you, anyway? Twelve?"

"I'm fourteen, asshole,"Frank grumbles, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. Nope, yeah, still here.

There's a few minutes of silence before Bob says,"I'm sorry for being a dick in the hallway. Reputation to upkeep, and all that."

Frank doesn't even answer because he's a stone-cold badass. He just keeps on frowning. Soon enough, the car stops and they're at Frank's house and Frank opens the door and gets the Hell out. But because Bob has a nice face and has been sorta nice to Frank during the drive, Frank turns around and mumbles 'Thanks' as he's closing the car door.

Bob looks up at him and smiles a tiny bit and says,"You're welcome. Um. What's your name?"

"Frank, is, uh. My name. I'm Frank,"he answers quickly, before walking away and entering his house. 

 

     And so it begins- nine days of unexplainable, improptu carpool from Bob Bryar. By the third time, Frank expects it. By the sixth time, Frank likes it. It's only about a ten-minute drive from the school to his house, but it's a good ten minutes. Frank learns a lot, actually. Bob plays the drums. Bob's favorite color is black. Bob's favorite band is Black Sabbath. And no, he doesn't actually like the guys that follow him around all day. When Frank asked Bob why he plays football, he said 'it's a family thing'. Which probably means his dad makes him do it. But Frank's not going to dig into Bob's deep dark secrets or anything. They're just carpooling.

Bob can't carpool on Friday. It's the first football game of the season. And it's not like Frank's jealous or anything, but he's upset that Bob's choosing to stick around at school for pre-game warm-ups instead of driving Frank home. It's not like he's the quarterback or anything. (Except that he is.) Who is Frank kidding. Of course Bob chose something like that over Frank. Anyone would. Frank's a fucking loser. But Bob's all nice about it anyway- he asks Frank if he wants to hang around and watch from the bleachers. Every day that week, he asks, and Frank says no each time. And that would always be about the time things get quiet between the two of them.

So that's the day Frank walks home, and he finally knows the route now, and it's cooling down just a little bit outside and he's walking by himself, occasionally glancing over to his left before remembering Bob's not there. And his head kinda hurts a little bit, because it feels weird now, not being with Bob at this time of day. It's been, like, two weeks, and it's really stupid, but Bob's stupid beater car, with the drumsticks on the dashboard and the random junk in the backseats and like a bazillion little stale french fries hiding between the seats- it feels good. Familiar. Like home. God damn you, invisible-John-Hughes-in-the-sky.

Fuck it, Frank's totally going to that football game.

 

     Its thirty minutes into the game, and Frank's locked in his room, deciding what to wear, as if it matters. As if after the game, Bob will scoop Frank up into his arms and carry him off into the sunset. Yeah, right. (But that'd be really cool if it actually happened). Frank finally decides on the Black Flag t-shirt he wore on the first day of school and those skinny jeans that he borrowed from his friend one time because Frank's parents wouldn't buy some for him. He's got on eyeliner (maybe too much)( _never too much_ ) and his hair's all fussed up in a faux-hawk because it makes him look really punk and threatening. When he steps into the living room, his parents shoot him really disappointed looks because they don't like him wearing skinny jeans and eyeliner, because it makes him look like a 'punk'. Well, he most certainly is a punk, so. 

"Frank, what are you all dressed up for?"his mom asks in a half-curious, half- exasperated way.

"I'm going to the football game tonight,"he says."It's a good chance for me to be _social._ Remember? You always complain that I'm not social enough."

"Who's driving you? That Rob guy?" Frank's dad asks, not looking up from the television.

"His name's Bob, and no. He happens to be _on_ the football team. I'll be walking by myself to the game,"Frank declares proudly.

"Okay,"is his father's response.

His mother says,"Frank, you know how I feel about you walking by yourself."

"You were perfectly fine letting me walk home from school,"Frank retorts smoothly, because he's got this whole thing played out in his head already.

"Yeah, but I feel much better now that you're carpooling. But I do want to meet this young man. I mean, he's sixteen years old, Frank. I don't even know what he looks like. He could be a psycho, or something,"Linda frowns.

"He's driving me to my house, not asking for my hand in marriage,"Frank groans, and things get a little very silent."Not the point. Ok. Yeah, we might need to have a talk later. But I'm going to walk to the football game. Love you. Bye."

With that, Frank dashes out the front door, exhileration fueling him as he runs down the sidewalk.

By the time he stops running, he can see the stadium lights. He can hear the fans, chanting something. His stomach feels a little sick, because he's never actually been to a high school football game, and he never actually thought he would, until this little asshole named Bob decided to throw his life off track for some weird reason. He should be brooding around and jerking off to Radiohead in his room. But he's here. And it's fucking weird. But Bob's somewhere in that stadium and all Frank knows is that the closer he is to Bob, the better.

Frank reaches the stadium parking lot soon after, and it's empty, except for the cars, and some guy standing near the entrance. Frank trudges around a bit, paces in circles, and the dude calls over to him,"It costs twenty bucks to get in!"

Frank yells back,"I don't have twenty dollars, fuck you. Does it costs twenty dollars to stand around in the parking lot?"

"No, I guess not. Carry on!"

So, that's what Frank does. He keeps walking around, for about fifteen minutes. He learns the guy's name (Jepha) (yeah, what the fuck), and asks if a pack of gum will do. It almost does. 

"Please,"Frank groans.

"You could blow me in the back alley,"Jepha says, and for a second Frank thinks he's being serious.

"No, shut up, seriously, I need to get in,"Frank frowns.

"I'm being paid by the school to stand out here and collect toll, man. Not my rules."

"Yeah, but how much of that are you going to keep for yourself?"Frank raises one eyebrow because he's clever as hell.

"Well. Fair enough. You may pass,"Jepha scoots out of the way of the entrance and Frank grins stupidly and walks forth.

He's greeted by the strong, sickening smell of concession stand food and a loud, constant hum of people's voices, yelling over other people's yelling. The football player dudes are running around on the field and Frank doesn't really care about that, so he sort of stands around, because he's definitely not sitting on the bleachers. But that really turns out to be the wrong choice, because then he feels a strong hand on his shoulder. He turns around, and he sort of recognizes the guy but sort of doesn't. The guy's big and tall, a scowl etched on his face. 

"Excuse me,"Frank says.

"Follow me and shut the fuck up."

"Dude, no,"Frank frowns. That's when the guy clasps one meaty hand tightly around Frank's arm and forces him to follow him. Well, if that's how he's gonna be. Frank's scared, really scared, but fuck if he didn't see this coming. 

The guy leads him into what appears to be the locker room, where two other guys are waiting, both just as big and intimidating as the other guy.

"How original,"Frank gasps out, because damn, that guy's got a strong grip on his arm. Also, he's trying really hard not to have a heart attack right now.

"What are you doing here?"one guy asks. Before Frank can answer, the guy answers his own question."Oh, that's right, you're in love with Bryar."

"Nah, not in love. But we're making excellent progress, lemme tell you,"Frank replies, because he is one smooth motherfucker.

"Faggot,"one guy grunts. The other guys grunt in agreement. Distantly, he hears the half-time buzzer go off. Which means guys from the football team will soon be coming in and out of the locker room, and they'll see what these guys are doing to Frank. Ooh- that could either be good or really bad. Well, then. Never a boring day, eh?

"You know, I was kicked off of the football team for beating up a kid,"one guy says, all proud and whatnot.

"Your mother must be so proud,"Frank says sarcastially.

And that's when a punch is thrown at Frank's jaw. Ouch. Fuck. He winces in pain, feels as one of his molars is hit at a weird angle. Another punch completely tears it from Frank's gums. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Frank spits it out, feeling the metallic tang of his on blood pooling in his mouth. He tries to spit out the blood a little bit, to start to drain it from his mouth, but it ends up running down his chin and dribbling to the floor awkwardly. 

"What do you know, you little freshman faggot. Emo."

"Oh, gosh. I'm so offended. Please, stop. I might even shed a tear,"Frank says. God, even with blood running down his chin, he's sarcastic as fuck. He deserves a fucking medal or something. The masochist side of Frank, which is indeed  a very large portion of him, is enjoying this way too much. 

He gets punched in the cheek then, and it's all off-balance and weak and it barely hurts. He hears the door open, hears someone walk in. So, he does what any sane person would do. He lets out the most bloodcurdling scream he can. And it sure works, because the footsteps get really quick and really close and guess who shows up- none other than Mr. Star Player, himself. (Bob. It's Bob.)

"Speak of the devil,"Frank mutters.

Bob's face gets confused, then horrified, then angry. Really, really angry.

"What's going on here?"Bob asks one of the dudes, grabbing at his shirt collar and nearly lifting him off the ground. Frank blushes, because invisible-John-Hughes-in-the-sky is being super nice to him. 

"We're getting rid of this faggot who's been following you around since school started,"the guy says, and it's all weak and unsure.

Bob close his eyes and lets out a sigh and releases the guy and says,"Get out of my sight. All three of you."

They sort of hesitate, and Bob's not having any of their shit,"Get out, before I change my mind and make you all sorry you were ever born."

Frank's arms are released, and they all get the fuck out, because Bob's intimidating as fuck right now. Frank lets out a breath, before spitting out the remaining blood.

There's a few minutes of silence before Bob says,"I'm really sorry about everything. Uh. It's all, like, my fault. So."

Frank huffs and wipes the dried blood from his chin as best he can, before putting his hands on Bob's face, tugging a litle bit so Bob leans down, closer, closer.

"What are you doing,"Bob whispers, and it's not even really a question. Frank does't say anything, just presses his lips to Bob's, really softly, really quickly, then he pulls away and smiles to himself, looking up to see how Bob's taking it. Bob's all dazed and confused, and he's blushing a bit.

"Now, uh, go get back out there,"Frank smiles.

Bob leans down and he kisses Frank again, longer this time, and it's everything good in the world and Frank can't even feel pain right now. 

"I can't believe I just kissed a fourteen year old,"Bob mumbles, but he's smiling anyway.

"Fifteen in October,"Frank adds."Alright, go on. Win that game for me."

They win 38-10.

 

                                                                                                                                                 +++

                                                                                                                                           _One Year Later_

_  
_Riding piggyback on Bob's back is one of the better things in life. Frank's probably strangling Bob, and he keeps digging his thighs into Bob's sides, but Bob lets him do it anyway, for whatever reason. Bob always says it's because he loves him. That always makes Frank feel really happy. It's their one year anniversary, and they're celebrating on the football field. Well, it's their one year and one day anniversary, because they couldn't be out here during a football game.

"Bob!"Frank's laughing really hard, because he just can't contain the happiness that this is bringing him."Babe! Let me down! I wanna kiss you!"

Of course, that gets Bob's attention. Bob lets Frank hop off, and Frank smiles and wraps  his arms around Bob's shoulders as much as he can, which isn't very much, and Bob bends down and Frank gets on his tip-toes, because Bob's a good half a foot taller than Frank. Frank kisses him, all soft and teasing, barely just a brush of the lips. Bob puts his hands on Frank's waist, all soft and unsure like he's asking for permission, and he always does that, even though they've been dating for a year and it's, like, more than okay to do something like that. Frank kisses him again, and he's filled with absolute giddiness and he has to keep himself from smiling as much as he wants to. 

Bob pulls away from the kiss and whispers in Frank's ear," I can't believe I'm dating a fifteen year old."

Frank smiles and whispers back,"Sixteen in October."

 

FIN

 


End file.
